


After All

by sleeptalker



Category: GLOW (2017), GLOW (Netflix)
Genre: Gen, but u can read it as a gen fic if u want??, i didn't think it was shippy enough to tag as f/f, its like.......shippy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 16:34:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11361306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeptalker/pseuds/sleeptalker
Summary: It's not until a couple days later that she sees her again.





	After All

**Author's Note:**

> i couldn't stop thinking abt these two so i had to write a lil oneshot!!

So she tags along with the rest of the girls when they go out for celebratory drinks after the show, and maybe she throws a couple looks over her shoulder to check if Debbie is trailing behind. She isn’t, but Ruth guesses that that’s only to be expected. She has Randy. Mark. A real house to go back home to, apparently. With AC and actual, edible food and a roommate that doesn’t-

Well, no. In truth, she’d much rather room with Sheila (the She-Wolf, bringer of dead animals and lover of solitude, et cetera) than Mark. Regardless of what her former actions might suggest. He snores, and takes up more than his fair share of the bed…are he and Debbie sharing a bed? Has she gotten over what happened this quickly? From the ring, Ruth could see that they were close, not entirely unhappy. It feels wrong to imagine that they haven’t been able to get over the slip-up (and the second one), and she likes to believe that Debbie hasn’t been forcing him to sleep on the couch. She’d said she wants to fix things, so… Together. Same bed. Not that it really matters. (Though the thought does rise, unbidden - or rather, _image._ Perhaps because she knows Mark well in this regard, it’s not him that her brain chooses to focus on. It’s Debbie; the expression on her face, the shape of her mouth.) 

Perhaps it’s actually a good thing that she didn’t agree to come tonight. Her refusal of drinks with _everyone_ lessens the blow of her refusal of drinks with Ruth. But she can’t help but wonder if she might have accepted Melrose’s offer, if it was clear that Ruth herself wasn’t going. 

Probably. 

The first girls in the crowd break through the hotel doors, dancing and crowing. “Last one to the bar pays the tab!” Melrose calls. 

Ruth takes one last look - just to check, of course, which of the suckers it’ll be who has to bear the cost of everyone else’s celebratory drinks. The lone straggler of the queue seems not to have heard the memo, ‘cause Bash seems way too elated to know he’s about to have to fork out a hundred dollar’s worth of drinks. 

* * *

It’s not until a couple days later that she sees her again. Again, Bash - the ever so generous - and his mother invite the team to his place, celebrating the official pick-up. Ten episodes, at least. Ruth isn't entirely sure how many matches that’s gonna be - and she doesn’t particularly want to know. Not now, at least. She’s fine with being grateful for the opportunity, and not having to consider how many times she’s gonna have her ass beat. The party’ll be a tasteful affair, Bash promises Sam, who makes it clear he’d rather the girls get home sober, and by nine, for training the next day. Only a couple drinks, closed bar. He agrees, but Cherry offers to act as chaperone anyway. 

It’s the type of event that requires heels and respectable dresses. Not owning many outfits that fit this theme, Ruth opts for the same thing she wore to her last audition. It’s a little conservative, and the coat might get a little much in the heat, but at least she’s fairly certain that Bash’s mother won’t disapprove. Melrose might not be so lucky, though. 

They arrive. Walk through the doors in rows of two. It’s not like they haven’t been here before, been to a similar event here before. It’s a little different now, because they’re not having to play the parts of reformed drug addicts, but Ruth still feels somewhat like she’s acting a role anyway. 

She doesn’t expect her to show up. 

Debbie’s busy, or so she’s heard. It’s not like they have any contact outside of the ring, really, but Cherry mentioned something about how she _‘better not blow off practice’_ the following day, so she guesses that maybe her packed schedule is something she’s told the others about. 

And Ruth’s right. There’s no sign of Debbie the entire first hour of the party. Which is good, right, it means she can relax. When she’s around Debbie, too often it feels like she’s playing with fire. She is gorgeous and warm and magnetising - but god forbid Ruth get too close.

It’s been frustrating, the constant pushing away. Even in the ring, where they’re supposed to be partners, where she thinks (hopes, maybe) that they have some sort of relationship, at most she’s allowed arms-length. The juxtaposition might be funny, if she weren’t so caught up in the loss of their relationship: physically, they’ve never been closer; emotionally, well…the opposite is true. 

She shakes her head, only briefly considering how odd it might look to the others. Accepts another glass of wine sheepishly offered by Justine - she must have been handed it by the butler on accident, and not want to drink in front of Sam. Ruth gives her a shaky, almost convincingly normal smile in response, but doesn’t consume much more than a sip. Choosing, instead, to watch. She’s feeling a little dizzy anyway, her peripheral vision smudged and blurry.

Then she catches a flash of blonde hair, and the dizziness increases so suddenly that she feels faint. 

It’s not. Here? Now??

Her eyes follow Debbie as she clutches the strap of her handbag in one hand, waves delicately to Carmen (the only other person who seems to have noticed her entry) with the other. The butler passes with his tray; she takes the glass of red with a practiced grace. Raises it to her lips, has a generous mouthful. It’s not her place, but Ruth still laughs, just a little, just under her breath. It’s an old habbit, one she’s had since high school. Debbie’s clearly nervous. She’ll drink whatever she’s holding in her hands just for something to do. 

Thankfully, Jenny engages her in conversation before she has the chance to down the entire glass. Presumably they’re talking about the match - how surprising her reveal was, how amazing she was in the ring. And she was. She’d mentioned how she flew - and, yeah, that was probably the best part, but it wasn’t… It was the whole thing. The others saw it from the standing-by perspective, but Ruth was really _there._ She saw the determination on Debbie’s face, unlike anything she’s ever seen from her before. (Felt it, too. The moves might be practiced, but the bodily connection is real, and she already has a couple bruises blooming up around her ribs.) 

Debbie just has a real focus about her when she’s in the ring. Like she’s in complete control - of her own body, yes, but also the audience, the ref, even the cameras. It’s a kind of power; one that she hasn’t really harnessed up until now. 

She catches her eye just then. The shortest second. Maybe she doesn’t recognise Ruth, ‘cause her eyes just slide over her, no expression, like she’s any of the other girls. It’s better that way, she tries to convince herself, because Debbie doesn’t _really_ want to be around her. She’s at the party despite her, and Ruth doesn’t want to impose herself on her like that. She doesn’t want to ruin her night. She’ll… Well, she’ll keep a respectable distance all night. Debbie won’t even have to know that she’s here. 

* * *

Melrose (who’s definitely had a little more than her three-drink limit) and Tammé (who just seems happy to be there) end up roping her into dancing with them around halfway through the night. While _All Night Long_ wouldn’t usually be her song of choice, she goes along with it and actually finds it pretty fun. It’s not something she’s totally used to, this female camaraderie. For a long time, her only true friend was Debbie. Sure, they went out dancing together when they were in their twenties, but then…then, Debbie found Mark and got married and landed a role on a hit show and had _an entire baby_ while Ruth was stuck spinning her wheels in the sand. 

The thought gives her pause and she makes some excuse to Tammé, murmuring it so that it can’t properly be heard over the music. Tammé nods, asks if she’s okay. She is, she just needs a little fresh air. 

The back lawn seems like the best choice. It’s massive, full of trimmed hedges and flowers that are actually, well, alive. The kind of lawn Ruth dreamed of having when she was younger and less jaded. 

She doesn’t notice that the area is occupied until it’s too late. The fountain she’d been admiring has a ledge around the edge of it, and she hadn’t assumed anyone would be out here but. There she is.

She casts a look back, through the open doors to the party. It’d make more sense right now to go back in. That would be the best choice, the most empathetic choice. Debbie’s made it clear already that she doesn’t want anything to do with her. 

Then again, she’s already told Tammé that she’s going outside. If she went back in immediately, it might look a little suspicious, right? And besides, this is supposed to be a celebration, a happy time, she’s had a couple drinks, and she…she wants to be selfish. 

A voice in the back of her head that reminds her too much of Sam points out that the last time she decided to be selfish, it didn’t exactly work out well for her. Which is true. Last time she was selfish, she ruined not only one, but three lives. Debbie, obviously. Mark. And herself. It’s her own fault that Debbie doesn’t want to speak to her anymore, and it was all due to her own selfishness. But maybe if she employs the same technique again… Two wrongs make a right, or something like that. It can’t hurt to try, 

So she grips the stem of her wine glass a little tighter, and takes the first tentative step (literally, figuratively) towards friendship. 

Debbie doesn’t look up when she approaches, either due to not hearing her footsteps, or because she is too focused on the little sequins on the lining of her clutch. She’s been staring at her lap and picking the sequins off ever since Ruth first noticed her, which probably isn’t a good sign. 

She sits. Next to her. 

(About a foot away, to be fair, but still.)

Without looking, Debbie reaches her hand out to the side, cigarette packet in hand. “Smoke?” 

“Uh, no. No thank you.” 

This gets her attention. She looks up quickly, startled. Ruth attempts to offer a look that shows she’s non-threatening. 

Debbie regards her for a long moment, then something changes in her expression, and she looks down, wipes a hand across her face. 

“I- I know you said we’re not at drinks-level yet,” Ruth begins, wondering for the life of her _why she thought this was a good idea,_ “but I thought that maybe-“ 

“I’m not gonna ask you to leave, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Debbie answers. She sounds tired. Not that this isn’t the norm for her, nowadays. But it’s a different _kind_ of tired. Since she started GLOW, the tiredness present in her voice is almost always physical. Exhaustion, in it’s plainest form. Now, though, she sounds existentially tired. It’s familiar in a gut-wrenching way. 

“You don’t have to ask me. I mean, if you want me to go, I’ll go.” 

She shakes her head an sort of throws up her hands, like she couldn’t care less. 

Ruth nods, even though she didn’t say anything. The music from the party is still audible outside, but muted. _Girls just want to have fun._ The irony isn’t lost on her. 

“Ten more episodes, huh.” It’s awkward, sitting in silence. A constant, weighted reminder that their relationship isn’t what it once was. Their silence isn’t comfortable anymore. Better to fill it with words. “That’s… I mean, wow. Right? That’s amazing.” 

“That’s one word for it,” Debbie harrumphs. “The matches…” 

“God, I _know._ I’m barely recovered from the last one, I can’t even imagine how tough it’s gonna be to have to do this every week.” 

She tilts her head to the side. “Only for ten weeks, though.” 

“Right, yeah.” She nods again, a little disappointed that Debbie’s already thinking in terms of it being over already. Ruth prefers to think of it as a never-ending thing - she’d rather live in the moment than worry about what’s coming after. 

“And we probably won’t have matches together _all_ the time,” Debbie continues, glancing her way. “I mean, that’d be ridiculous. And boring after a while.” 

“Not if we learn different moves,” she pipes up despite herself, and immediately cringes. It’s too much, too desperate. “But I guess. It’d make more sense for us to wrestle different characters each week.” 

“Yep,” she replies, staring firmly ahead of herself once more. Ruth said the wrong thing. 

She’s been doing that a lot recently. Saying the wrong things, doing the wrong things. It’s as if she can’t do anything right anymore. She lost everything when she moved out to LA and attempted a career as an actress, but that was okay, because she had Debbie…then she messed that up, too. The last good thing in her life. 

Until GLOW came along. She’s not too prideful to admit that it’s changed her life for the better. It gave her a job, a relatively steady one at that; physical fitness; a place to go everyday; new friendships, and. 

And it reunited her with Debbie. 

They’re both at this job, now. Together. For at least another ten weeks. 

Which is terrifying, considering the rocky (at best) and practically nonexistent (at worst) nature of their relationship. 

But in a way, it’s also freeing. ‘Cause there’s no way their relationship can get any worse than it currently is. And no matter what happens, no matter what Ruth says or does, they’ll see each other tomorrow for training. And the day after that. And the day after that. And so on…

“Did you really mean what you said, last time we were here?” She blurts out. ‘’You know, when you said that you…you wish I hadn’t did what I did, and fucked everything up.”

Debbie takes a long drag of her cigarette. Ruth tries not to watch her, focusing instead on the tiny cluster of fireflies hovering near the flower beds. The soft glow, faint thrum of music from inside. 

Finally, “I don’t know what you want me to say, Ruth.” 

It’s the first time she’s said her name in a while. She forgot how - how _nice_ it is, to hear it from her mouth. She’s always thought her name was kind of plain, unremarkable. In a place like Los Angeles, that feeling is only amplified. When was the last time anyone heard of an actress called _Ruth?_

But when Debbie says it, there’s this…warmth, wrapped around the syllable. Maybe it’s her pronunciation, or her accent, or something, but there’s a difference to how she says it. When she says her name - _Ruth,_ just like that - she doesn’t care if her name is in actuality plain or unremarkable. When someone as beautiful as Debbie Eagan says your name, in that _way,_ it’s enough to give anyone a flip in their stomach and lift in their heart. 

“Just say what you mean,” she begs. “Honestly.” 

“I don’t know.” She turns, faces her. It’s not just her voice, she even _looks_ tired. Emotionally. Her cheeks, even, are kind of drooping, like someone who’s forced themselves to smile for too long. “Okay? I don’t know.”

“Okay.” 

“I miss you. Is that what you want to hear?” 

 _Yes._ “Only if it’s true.”

They lock eyes, and Ruth _knows_ then. She just knows. “Debbie, I-“ 

“I can’t do this right now,” she interrupts, shaking her head and getting up so suddenly that she tilts backwards in her heels. “Sorry. I’m not gonna get into _this-“_ a shaky finger gestures between them both, _“_ -right now. No.” She tosses the still-lit cigarette into the fountain. It makes a short hiss. “I’m going back into the party. Don’t…don’t follow me. Please.” 

“Of course.” Ruth nods, looks down. “You know that I’d never… I didn’t say any of that to make you upset.” 

“I know.” She purses her lips. “You don’t mean any of it. But that’s not-“ She cuts herself off. Sighs. “I’ll see you at practice tomorrow.” 

She manages a weak, “See you then.” 

As she walks away, she wills her heart to stop beating so hard. It’s not their best interaction. But maybe…maybe something’s changing. She doesn’t have her old best friend back. At this point, she doesn’t dare to believe that she’ll ever get that version of Debbie again. But she thinks that they’re reaching the beginnings of an understanding. And from there…. Well. 

 She can hope.

**Author's Note:**

> if u wanna scream™ abt glow w me then my tumblr is @ruthwilderz lmao n thanks for reading!!!!


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